Unimaginable
by Epitome of Randomness
Summary: Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God." Mid New Moon. Bella has it hard. Rosalie went through something worse. Oneshot, M.


**DISCLAIMER: Not Stephenie Meyer. Also, this is nothing like the Slayers. M for strong themes.**

**Unimaginable**

_Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God._

_**--**____**Aeschylus, Oresteia.**_

You chose, Bella.

You chose to try loving Edward. You wanted this different, unique path.

You put yourself in danger for him. And for what?

I wanted so many more things, and you should too, yet you chose this. You chose the masochistic walking corpse. And he did walk, only it was away from you. For _your_ own good, Bella. Remember that.

Oh, you had it bad, you did. But you chose to love him. You want to become one of us. I didn't choose.

Those men took my beauty, my innocence, my life from me. They took my chance at those things every human has a right to – to live, to feel the summer sun, to age. The right to rebel. The right to suffer, the right to overcome. To marry, to have children, to have grandchildren. To find that first grey hair. To wither,

and to shrivel,

and to die.

Those men took those things.

Bella thinks Edward leaving was the worst thing possible to happen. To you it was the worst thing in the world. It was unthinkable, impossible, unimaginable.

But Bella, I dare you to try. Try to see my unthinkable.

See my impossible.

See my unimaginable.

"There's mah gal!" comes the shout from behind you. And for a second, you feel a rush of…emotions for this man. Then he, and his friends come closer to you, stooped, stumbling. They are drunk; they are sweating from the hot club they were no doubt in. They reek of the beer they have been guzzling, cheap cigars and perfume.

In the dark dank street, they aren't men. They look like animals.

They sound like animals, rasping breaths, gurgling stomachs. One spits over his shoulder, and another licks his lips.

And then?

They fall upon you, Bella. You trip in your high shoes and fall awkwardly onto the pavement. Something in your arm cracks, you try to get away. You cry for your mother. She doesn't come.

Hot, clawed hands push you to the cobbled street, and they hold you down. You kick out, but you are one woman, one girl, against these…men…creatures.

Tears pour down your face, even though your eyes are squeezed shut. Your screams for help go unanswered, after all, what kind of police officer is out this late in 1933?

Imagine, Bella. Their stinking breath hot on your skin, until now untouched by anyone by you. Tearing at your dress, the silver chain he gave you, their meaty, damp hands in your hair, the hair he called spun gold. Watch him now as he pulls down your stockings, laughing, being cheered on by his brutish friends. Your head is smashed against the gutter.

Again.

You pray for it to stop. Blood trickles down the face he once called beautiful.

Please, make it stop.

It isn't meant to be like this. It's meant to be after your wedding. Perfect. Joined in a holy union.

It isn't holy, Bella. It isn't a union.

Rape was barely a word then, Bella. Barely an idea. Women were objects, dolls made to look pretty and have babies and smile. Opinion? What's that? I think my husband has one.

It hurts. It goes on, and on, and on.

He is making noises now. Your back scrapes along the road, cold, hard, unyielding. You wish a hole would open right now. Death would be better than this.

It's over. Your fiancée, the man you're meant to love and honor and obey stands and steps back, wiping the sweat from his brow.

It's over. The animal, who was once a man, steps away.

It's over. The demon, who was once a man, steps over you, lying bleeding on the cold damp street.

Another man begins. And again. And again. You lie there, silent. You can't say anything, Bella. Even if you wanted to. Something in you is gone. You are a statue, lying there. Bleeding, tears rolling from your unseeing eyes.

The sky was cloudy that night.

But you don't imagine. You lie there, holding yourself together, whimpering. You were not violated, you are not a walking corpse. Yes. I understand that losing Edward, now, it seems terrible.

I look better now, and mostly I am. I have Emmett. I have Carlisle and Esme, and Alice and Jasper, and Edward.

But Bella, listen. Please.

Bella, worse things have happened than a Juliet losing her Romeo.

Get up. He'll be back. Live a human life before he takes that chance away. It's the best kind of revenge you'll ever get.

_"If you want to conquer fear, don't sit at home and think about it. Go out and get busy."_

_**-- Andrew**__**Carnegie. **_

**One of the things that annoyed me about Twilight was the characterization of Rosalie and Jasper, but mostly Rosalie. Meyer really treated being turned into a Vampire as a fix-all for everything, mental as well as physical. It's pretty much canon that Rosalie was gang-raped. That kind of experience stays with someone forever. The idea that a bite on the neck fixes it up and POOF, everything's alright, yes, everything's fine* **_**really**_** ticked me off. To put it mildly, anyway.**

**Thanks for reading. I know it's a little different from what some people were expecting.**

**-Nicola.**

*** Yes, I did put a Jesus Christ Superstar reference into a note about rape trauma. The mood needed a little lightening. Sorry.****d.**


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